One Shenandoah Winter

by Davis Bunn

  Connie opened her eyes. The light shone down upon them both. The unshed tears in her eyes softened this professional woman, making her edges shimmer and glisten. “You did what you thought was right. What else could you do?”

  Margaret started to respond, then stopped herself. “What will you do now?”

  “Go home.” Connie felt bereft, as though she had lost someone dear to her. She took a breath. “I’m going back to Hillsboro and I’m going straight to Doctor Nathan Reynolds and I am going to apologize from the bottom of my heart.”

  Fifteen

  Nathan found it strange to return to roads that went in a straight line.

  He followed the directions to Charlottesville’s university hospital. Thankfully the chief resident oncologist had heard of him and his work. Of course they would make time for the patient. Melanoma with possible lymphoma? Critical stages? Could they have a couple of students observe the procedure? Much obliged.

  The hospital sat at one corner of the University of Virginia campus, more a part of the city than the university. Nathan had never been there before, but even so there was a sense of returning to his former stomping grounds. As he pulled into the parking lot, he sensed the old surging energy. Simply by being here he was fitting on the familiar armor, hefting the old weapons, returning once more to the battle.

  Poppa Joe’s reaction could not have been any more different. In the fading light of day his eyes looked washed of both color and certainty. He stood by the car and stared up at the building, and asked, “This thing here, it’s important?”

  “Absolutely vital.”

  The old man gazed at Nathan across the top of the car. “Son, you ain’t expecting to get me cured in there, now.”

  “We’re here for an examination.” He had rehearsed the argument while calling the university doctor. But to his surprise, the old man had fitted himself to Nathan’s speedy departure, saying not a word as he had been shepherded out of the clinic and into the car. “We need to have some blood work done and a full set of X rays. We should be finished and on our way back to Hillsboro in a few hours.”

  He might as well not have spoken. Poppa Joe told him, “Because I ain’t worried about going Home. And that’s the truth.”

  “Fine.” Nathan came around the car, patted the old man on a shoulder solid as Hillsboro rock. “Let’s go get this over with.”

  As they crossed the lot, Nathan reflected that the air seemed thicker here. Dense and clogged with people and city smells. When they entered the hospital, instantly he was struck by the sharp odors. Poppa Joe stiffened beside him, his eyes open and alert and worried. Nathan gave his name to the receptionist, asked for her to ring the oncology department and let them know they were on their way.

  Poppa Joe endured the examination with a detached calm which unnerved even the university specialist. He sat with his shirt off, erect and still while the nurse took blood and the specialist led his students through the cursory inspection.

  The three medical students watched with the same kind of avid interest Nathan recalled from his own studies. It was almost a hunger, this desire to study and know and conquer. Only here they were inspecting a new friend. Nathan stood to one side and sensed his own internal fears and shadows congealing into another confrontation with the enemy.

  Nathan forced himself to hold steady as the hospital’s chief oncologist explained to the students, “Melanoma can be readily identifiable by the black irregular growth you see here below the rib cage. This scab you observe here is also typical, the bleeding lesion which refuses to heal cleanly. Unfortunately it is also extremely aggressive—observe the smaller secondary lesions here on the arm, another there by the collarbone, and here again on the right shoulder.”

  Nathan remained by the far wall, watching Poppa Joe and finding himself struck by a flood of conflicting emotions. Every professional instinct told him he was acting correctly. Yet there was another voice speaking to him now. One that he had never heard before, not in these surroundings. And that voice left him feeling more ashamed the longer he stood and watched the old man.

  “Would you raise your arms, please? Thank you. All right, observe here the protruding lymph nodes. And here, the blue striations, yes, this is definitely more than a simple response to internal infection.

  “All right, I will now examine the patient’s right hypochondrium. Would you please breathe in for me now? Good. I am palpating the liver, watch as I press in with my hand, see there? Let out your breath now. Excellent. The liver’s edge actually can be felt to slide over the tips of my fingers as the patient exhales. Such swelling of the lymph nodes combined with this enlarged liver definitely indicates advanced secondary metastasization.”

  The hospital oncologist realized he had been ignoring Nathan’s presence, so he turned and invited him to join their group. “Wouldn’t you agree, Doctor Reynolds?”

  Thankfully, the nurse chose that moment to announce they were ready in radiology. Nathan personally led the old man into the windowless room and stood beside him as Poppa Joe had his first look. The X-ray machine was a huge contraption, one as familiar to Nathan as the back of his hand. Only now he was seeing the apparatus through Poppa Joe’s eyes—the steel bed, the empty straps, the cold gleaming overwhelming strangeness.

  “They’re going to run a solution into your vein. That way we’ll be able to see everything with total clarity.” Nathan tried hard to sound reassuring. “We’ll be as quick as we can.”

  Poppa Joe allowed himself to be eased onto the metal platform and strapped into place. He answered any question directed his way with solemn courtesy, even addressing the students as sir. He did not flinch, not even when the third needle went into his elbow and the nurse apologized for striking the same vein. His gaze remained locked upon the far wall, his expression stern and unmoving. The nurse settled a hard little pillow under his head and asked if he was comfortable.

  “Not too poorly, thank you, ma’am. Not too poorly.” Poppa Joe glanced at Nathan and added, “But if I didn’t know better, I’d say you was fitting me for my box a trifle early.”

  Nathan moved into the lead-glass booth and watched the students assist the nurse in changing the plates and repositioning Poppa Joe between shots. He recalled the thousands of times he had stood and watched the same process. They were all with him in that moment, all the failures and all the successes. There were very few of the latter.

  Afterward he settled Poppa Joe into a padded bench in the waiting area and bought him a soda from the machine. Nathan then followed the doctor into the analysis room. The half-light and the bank of illuminated screens were as familiar as his own hands. The university doctor walked the students through the analysis as the X rays and then the first blood work arrived. Every so often he would turn to Nathan and wait, in case this renowned visitor had anything further to add. Nathan took refuge in silent study of the evidence strewn there before him, feeling utterly helpless and frustrated and lost. A band of steel gradually tightened around his chest, until everything inside his body was being squeezed out. All breath, all hope.

  When the analysis was complete and the students had been dismissed, the university doctor said quietly, “That is one amazing man you’ve brought in here.”

  “Amazing is right.”

  “I have family up on the West Virginia border. That man reminds me a lot of them.” The doctor raised his gaze, as if to look through the wall and the distance separating them. “I haven’t visited the family in years, strangely enough. They’re an uneducated lot, hard to talk with. But I always seemed to leave there feeling ashamed. I suppose it was easier to stay away than figure out why.”

  The doctor straightened abruptly, realizing what he had just said. He glanced at Nathan, as though expecting to find citified derision. But Nathan met him with silence. The doctor asked, “He a friend of yours?”

  “Yes.” Nathan felt a sudden burning in his eyes. “Yes, he’s my friend.”

  “I assume you’ll want a copy o
f the plates.”

  “Please.” His voice sounded strangled.

  “I’ll phone with the results of the other blood work as soon as the lab lets us know.” The university doctor offered his hand. “It’s been an honor to meet you, Doctor Reynolds.” He glanced back at the impenetrable wall. “I’m sorry about your friend.”

  Sixteen

  As they were walking down the hospital corridor, Nathan was suddenly struck by a thought. “I forgot all about Brian.”

  Poppa Joe followed him over to the pay phone in the hall. “The pastor?”

  “I promised I’d come by this evening.” When the operator came on, he asked for the number for Reverend Brian Blackstone of Hillsboro. As he waited he went on, “He was going to give me my first lesson in the Bible.”

  As Nathan fished for change to pay for the call, he glanced up. “What’s the matter?”

  For the first time that exhausting day, Poppa Joe was genuinely anxious. “I took you away from getting to know the Lord?”

  “It’s all right.”

  “No, it ain’t.” The old man looked stricken. “It ain’t all right at all.”

  Nathan kept glancing over as he waited for an answer. When the pastor came on the line, he started, “Brian, it’s Nathan here. I’m so sorry, but—”

  The reverend broke in with worry of his own. “How is Poppa Joe?”

  “Well, right now he’s pretty peeved. He feels like he’s taken me away from something important.”

  “Is he there?”

  “Right here beside me.”

  “Put him on the line, will you?”

  Nathan held out the receiver. “He wants to speak with you.”

  Poppa Joe accepted the phone, bent over to accommodate his height to the short metal cord, and said, “Evening, Reverend.”

  He listened for a long moment, and gradually Nathan could see the worry creases ease away. “All right, Reverend. I’ll tell him. And thankee.”

  Nathan accepted the receiver, then said, “Whatever you told him seems to have worked.”

  “Can he hear us?”

  “Every word.”

  “I know you have to protect the patient, but I’m concerned about Connie.”

  The burden Nathan carried grew heavier. “I agree.”

  There was a quick intake of breath, then, “It’s bad, isn’t it.”

  “Very.”

  “Oh my, oh my.” Brian’s voice took on a little tremor.

  “Look, I just told Poppa Joe that I’ve been worrying over what to preach on Sunday. It wasn’t until I thought about our study tonight that I discovered what was needed for the Sabbath message. And that’s the truth.”

  “Glad to hear it.” And then Nathan had an idea. He lowered the phone and said to the old man, “It’s going to be so late by the time we get back, why don’t you stay down in Hillsboro with me tonight?”

  Poppa Joe nodded once. “I’d be much obliged.”

  When he raised the receiver, he said to Brian, “Could I borrow a set of clean sheets? I’ve been a little slow with my housekeeping.”

  “I’ll have Sadie go over and air out the guestroom. Drive careful, they say there’s going to be a hard frost tonight.” The tremor returned to Brian’s voice. “You’ve got a precious cargo there.”

  When Connie finally pulled into her drive, she was confronted with a familiar shiny red pickup. She groaned her way to a halt, glanced at the clock, and groaned a second time. A bleary-eyed Duke Langdon slid out of the front seat of his truck, and for an instant it did not appear that his knees would support him.

  She opened her door and called, “Duke Langdon, are you drunk?”

  “No, ma’am. I surely am not.”

  Then she realized the tall mountain lad had been deep asleep. “It’s one o’clock in the morning.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I reckon you’re right.”

  “Duke.” She pushed off the car’s lights, got out, and found herself with scarcely the energy left to shut her own door. “Not now. Not you.”

  “I know. It shoulda been Dawn. But I spelled her a while back. She conked out.”

  “Not Dawn either. There’s not a thing that can’t wait until tomorrow—”

  “Miss Connie, I ain’t here about Dawn and me.”

  Something in his tone, the way he dragged himself to full alert, brought her up short. “Something’s happened to Hattie?”

  “No, ma’am. It ain’t Miss Hattie.” Duke took what appeared to be the hardest breath of his life. “It’s Poppa Joe.”

  Had the car not been there beside her she would have gone down in a heap. “What?”

  “I don’t know much. Nobody does. But I brought Poppa Joe down to town this morning. I mean, yesterday. Poppa Joe went by the doc’s place later. And after that, well, Miss Connie, I’m sorry. I really am.” Another tough breath. “The doc lit out of town with Poppa Joe, and they went over to the hospital in Charlottesville.”

  She forced her legs to straighten and take her back to the car door, though she needed one hand on the hood to guide her. “I’ve got—”

  “They ain’t there, Miss Connie. They’re back.”

  “Then I’ve got to get up the hill—”

  “Poppa Joe ain’t there neither. I mean, to his place. He’s spending the night over to the doc’s.”

  She felt the news spinning her with the fatigue. “What?”

  “And far as anybody can tell, Poppa Joe’s feeling okay. They didn’t say much to nobody. Hattie and Dawn and Sadie Blackstone all went over and cleaned the house real good. That doc, he ain’t much for dusting by the sounds of things. They was there when the doc and Poppa Joe came home. The old man looked fine, far as they could tell. Hattie had brought ’em a bite to eat and they set to with a good appetite.”

  Connie searched the night sky for answers. “Then why . . .”

  “Ma’am, I can’t tell you a thing more than that. But Miss Hattie, she said you needed to hear from somebody you knew.” Duke heaved a sigh. “Sorry it had to be me.”

  “No, no . . . I suppose . . . Should I go over?”

  “Miss Connie, it’s one o’clock in the morning, you done said it yourself.”

  “Yes, you’re right, I best let them sleep.” But she knew she could not sleep herself. Not now. She looked over at the lanky young man, his face creased by moon shadows. And she said the words because they needed saying. “Thank you, Duke. You’ve been a good friend this night.”

  When the sun began scattering soft rose hues over the valley, Nathan climbed wearily from his bed. He had slept less than usual. His night had been spent preparing a plan of attack. It had been a mistake to bring the old man home from the hospital, he knew that now. Nothing definite could be done until the remaining blood work was back, but even so the time could have been used to prepare him for what was to come.

  But when he came downstairs, he heard a creaking on his front porch. He opened the door, and found Poppa Joe seated in the one solid rocker, watching the river emerge from the last of the night shadows. Poppa Joe did not turn from his quiet rocking as Nathan walked out on the porch. “You got yourself some rickety furniture here, son.”

  “I inherited it all with the place.” Nathan dragged over a chair he was fairly certain would hold his weight. “Would you like some coffee?”

  “Directly. Ain’t no hurry. How’d you sleep?”

  “Lousy. You?”

  “I never was one for lying abed. Got even less use for it as I grow older.” The blue eyes finally turned Nathan’s way. “Suppose I’ll be getting my fill of it and more in the days to come.”

  Nathan could not sit there like that. The cold was working its way through to his bones. “Let me get on some clothes and heat some water. I’ll be right back.”

  Once inside, he tried to marshal the arguments which had come to him in the night. He ran through everything he would need to shepherd the old man back to the hospital. All the pat answers he had used in the past; the ones to explain how,
even though there was not much chance of success, still they had to run a course of treatment. They had to try.

  But when he came back outside, Poppa Joe accepted the steaming mug, took a tentative sip, nodded his appreciation of the warmth and the coffee, and said, “Been thinking what it’s gonna be like to watch my last dawn.”

  “We’re a way from that yet.” But the stout contradiction rang untrue in the frosty morning air. “How do you feel?”

  “Same as yesterday, son.” Another sip, then he breathed out the words with the steam. “Seen myself some things, I have. Ain’t never felt a call to travel much beyond this here valley. But I’ve come to know these hills. And I love ’em. Yessir, I surely do.” Another sip. “I’m gonna miss this part of creation, son.”

  Nathan sat and watched the old man’s stone-carved features take on strength and form with the morning. And everything he had so carefully prepared held to his tongue like glue.

  “Spent a lifetime telling myself, where He leads me, I will follow. When He calls me, I will go. But the time’s done come, and I ain’t ready. I want me some more days tracking game in the hills. I want me some more sunrises. I want me some more time to learn.” The hand which raised the mug was shaking harder than usual now. “I’m sitting here seeing the final door right up ahead, and I feel like I’ve done wasted the better part of every day.”

  Nathan could not speak. It was simply not possible. There was no space in that sunlit morning for any of the plans and preparations he had formulated the previous night. He sat and sipped his coffee, feeling more helpless than he ever had before. All his weapons had been stripped away. The enemy was going to win. And this time defeat would come without a struggle.

  Poppa Joe turned that searching gaze his way. “Gonna need your help with something, son. Connie’s not gonna take to this easy. She’s not gonna want to hear that my time’s come. She’s gonna want to fight. She’s gonna want to put me in a hospital down there in the city, and let them doctors and nurses grind me down . . .”